


A Starlight Tale

by KariTBB



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Brothers, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariTBB/pseuds/KariTBB
Summary: Starlight Eve has arrived in Ishgard and House Fortemps is filled with the excited hustle and bustle of final holiday preparations being made. While Emmanellain is eager to finish his arrangements for Honoroit’s Starlight present, Artoirel and Edmont struggle to cope with their emotions after Haurchefant‘s death.
Relationships: Artoirel de Fortemps & Haurchefant Greystone, Edmont de Fortemps & Haurchefant Greystone, Honoroit Banlardois & Emmanellain de Fortemps
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Morning Routine

**Author's Note:**

> From the bottom of my heart, I want to wish all of you happy holidays. May you have a wonderful time and may your hearts be filled with joy and laughter. This story is a little gift for all fans of the Fortemps family. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love,  
> Kari

No one could claim Honoroit wouldn’t prepare Emmanellain’s breakfast with sincerest dedication. He always made sure to provide an assortment of foods that were as palatable as they were healthy and took care to present them in a visually appealing manner - Halone knew his charge could be…  _ finicky  _ about his meals. In this spirit, Honoroit displayed great diligence as he arranged today’s plate: Two slices of whole-grain bread, one with cheese and one with that liver pâté with onions that Emmanellain fancied so much, carrot sticks and a few slices of cucumber accompanied by a soft boiled egg and a fresh cup of coffee.

Alas, none of his dedication and effort prevented Emmanellain from putting on the most gloomy pout when Honoroit set the plate in front of him.

“Carrots?” the young Fortemps peeped, the simple word filled with utter repugnance. He craned his neck and regarded Honoroit with a frown, patently wavering between disbelief and disgust. Not awaiting Honoroit‘s answer, he bent over his plate and poked - physically  _ poked _ \- one of the carrot sticks with his finger. Honoroit resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Heavens, that man was worse than a child… As if vegetables were poisonous.

“My lord, I must remind you that we had an agreement,“ Honoroit chided sternly. “You eat two servings of vegetables at breakfast and lunch, and I will no longer oppose if you treat yourself to a piece of cake in the afternoon.”

_ Every _ afternoon, to be precise, and far more than one piece most days. Otherwise, Honoroit wouldn’t have had an issue with Emmanellain’s penchant for all things sweet in the first place - the Fortemps were one of the four High Houses, and if Lord Emmanellain wished to have a pastry, he had every right and means to indulge himself. But since the holiday season had started, Emmanellain had taken to eating far more sweets than could possibly be good for him. On some days, his diet had consisted of naught but gingerbread and candy canes and hot chocolate...

Emmanellain peeked up at him with what Lord Haurchefant, Gods rest his soul, had commonly referred to as ‘the world’s most pitiful puppy dog eyes’.

“But carrots?” the lordling whined. “Can’t I at least have tomatoes instead?”

“You had tomatoes yesterday,” Honoroit called his attention. “Variation in your menu is of great importance to your health. I may get you some celery though if you prefer?”

Emmanellain paled, aghast enough that he all but jumped from his seat.

“No! No! Carrots are perfectly fine!” he hurried to assure. Anxious to prove his compliance, he grabbed a carrot stick and bit off a large chunk.

“ _ Thwee _ ?”

Honoroit did his best not to chuckle - a hopeless endeavour, given the circumstances.

“Yes, I see,” he acknowledged gently. “Still, Lord Emmanellain, pray have a care and  _ chew _ your food properly. I believe your father and your brother would regret losing you on Starlight Eve of all days because you choke to death on a carrot.”

He realised a moment too late that his remark was greatly out of line - Lord Edmont and Count Artoirel were at the table, too, after all, and they might not let his quip slide as easily as Emmanellain was wont to. With a pang of nervousness seizing his chest, he glanced over at the two high-born men, but to his relief, neither of them appeared to be affronted. On the contrary, Artoirel measured Emmanellain with a long, inscrutable gaze and sided with Honoroit with a solemn nod.

  
“Honoroit’s right. Pray do us the favour and at least wait till  _ after  _ the holidays before you die by virtue of your utter lack of manners.”

The mockery was a tad too harsh in Honoroit‘s opinion, but Count Artoirel’s lips parted into a faint grin and if Honoroit hadn’t known better, he would have said the man stifled a bout of laughter by the time he ducked out of the way of the carrot stick Emmanellain threw at him. With a sigh, Honoroit went to pick the half-eaten piece of carrot off the floor while Lord Edmont gave his sons a thundering tongue-lashing. By the Fury, these people were impossible!

He discarded the vegetable remains into the table waste bin and resumed his position at Emmanellain’s side. Emmanellain and Artoirel were still subject to their father’s reprimand and had their heads dipped in a meek display of submission, but Honoroit could tell they secretly kept bickering in the form of silent gazes. They had always done that - engaging in elaborate arguments with naught but covert glares and scowls and smug grins. Honoroit assumed it was one of those ‘sibling things’. Their mute conversations were tremendously difficult to spot, moreso for outsiders, but Honoroit had lived with them long enough.

The corners of his mouth rose.

Yes. They were impossible, ridiculous, and he absolutely adored them.


	2. Trials of Brothership

_ “Eh….” _

Emmanellain gaped down at Honoroit, handling the situation with as much aplomb and composure as he could possibly muster. Which in Emmanellain’s case meant: with none at all.

Artoirel, originally intending to retreat to his office after breakfast, sighed and slowed his steps. Emmanellain looked as if the boy had just told him that he was betrothed to a snow goobbue rather than the mere fact that he would go fetch his coat.

Acting casual, Artoirel turned to the window beside him and pretended to check if it was properly closed, sensing he ought to linger around in case he would have to intervene.

“You… you truly needn’t come with me to the Jeweled Crozier, haha,” Emmanellain spluttered, his fingers absently toying with Fortemps emblem on his coat.

Artoirel groaned. Had his brother just  _ laughed _ without rhyme or reason? He would definitely need to intervene...

“Surely that would be much too boring for a young boy such as you. I know a lad your age is hardly interested in shopping of all things, eh?“

There was a distinct tremble in Emmanellain’s voice and he made a lousy attempt at detracting from his awkwardness by nudging Honoroit’s ribs. Unsurprisingly, Honoroit arched his eyebrows in blatant suspicion. The boy was too clever by half - certainly too clever for Emmanellain, anyway.

“My lord, I accompany you to the Jeweled Crozier well-nigh every day,” Honoroit declared serenely. “While I must admit I‘d be grateful if you shifted your attention to less…  _ trivial _ matters, pray rest assured I do not mind joining you on your errands.“

Emmanellain’s fidgeting fingers froze.

_ “Eh…” _

Artoirel let out a huff of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _ Gods _ , grant this man an onze of wisdom…

“Honoroit?” he called out, unable to stand by and watch his brother‘s ineptness any longer. “If Emmanellain doesn’t require your services, pray could you assist Filibert and the rest of the kitchen staff today? Considering the many preparations still necessary for tonight‘s festive dinner, they could use every helping hand available.“

“Oh…” A hint of disappointment flashed up in Honoroit‘s verdant eyes, but well-mannered as the boy was, he accepted the task with impeccable dignity. “Of course, Count Artoirel. I will seek out Master Filibert at once and ask how I can be of help.“

He took a polite bow and set about heading to the kitchen, but at the threshold, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His forehead was lined with thought and he intently searched Emmanellain‘s face, but if he had any assumptions about what Emmanellain was up to, he refrained from voicing them.

When Honoroit had disappeared into the hallway, Emmanellain collapsed onto the nearest chair and let out a melodramatic gasp.

“You deserve my eternal gratitude, dear brother mine!“ he chirped. He settled back, draped his arms over the chair’s backrest and broke into a complacent grin. “That was a bit of a close call, hehe.“

Artoirel forced a deep breath into his lungs, stoically reminding himself that he was a respectable, civilised gentleman and thus would  _ not _ clout Emmanellain across the back of his head.

“You are aware that he knows you‘re going to buy his Starlight present now, are you?“ he opted to point out instead. He leaned forward, propped one hand on the table and drummed his fingers against the dark wood. Emmanellain, for his part, stared at him with genuine confusion.

“You think so?“ he whispered. Artoirel bit back an unbecoming curse. How on earth could his brother be so egregiously  _ foolish _ ? 

“Yes. I  _ think  _ so. By the Fury, you couldn’t have been any more obvious if you had tried, Emmanellain!“

Emmanellain crossed his arms in front of him and shoved his lower lip forward in an infantile pout.

“Technically, I ‘bought’ it two moons ago,” he huffed. “I‘m merely picking it up today!“

Artoirel straightened up, his jaw slack.

“How in the world does that make any diff…” He swallowed the rest of the sentence and passed a hand over his eyes. “Just see that you get it done, will you?”

Emmanellain commenced mumbling something under his breath, but fortunately rose to his feet and toddled off.

When the door fell shut behind him, Artoirel took a moment to collect himself. Gods, he loved his brother, but Emmanellain certainly was a handful…

The familiar sensation of an impending headache began pricking his temples - sadly an all too frequent occurrence when dealing with Emmanellain. Hoping for the quiet of his office to provide some relief, Artoirel climbed up the stairs. If he made haste, he could get a good amount of work done before Starlight celebration would start in earnest... While Father still helped him out on a regular basis, Artoirel was desperate to learn to handle his duties by himself. After Mother‘s passing, Father had exerted himself trying to help make Ishgard a better place. With the aid of Ser Aymeric and the Warrior of Light, his ceaseless efforts had finally born fruit and the Holy See of Ishgard had blossomed into the just, reputable city it was meant to be. But the years of political intrigues and petty power plays had taken their toll on Father: The shadows under his eyes had become deeper, his movements slower, his limp more pronounced. Father never mentioned any of his ailments, Heavens help that man and his stubborn pride, but his growing weariness hadn‘t escaped Artoirel‘s attention.

Artoirel’s lips flattened into a thin, bloodless line. Father had done enough... It was upon Artoirel now to take up the mantle and let Father rest.

He drove the haunting thoughts far into the back of his mind and made his way towards the Eastern wing of the house. Headache or not, he would finish today‘s work, even if it meant he had to spend Starlight’s Eve alone in his office. It was his duty, as a count as much as a son.

His plans were foiled within mere moments: As he passed the hallway that led to the family’s private quarters, Artoirel jerked to a halt. His throat knotted, his entire attention fixated on that small, triangular sliver of light on the floor that was not supposed to be there.  _ The door to Haurchefant’s room stood ajar… _

For a moment, Artoirel couldn’t move, couldn’t take a single step or utter a single sound. Then the pain of the past moons surged up in a wave of fury and broke the spell.

He charged forward, the world around him fading into colourless non-existence.  _ No one _ was allowed into Haurchefant’s room! After that fateful day in the Vault, Father had ruled that Haurchefant’s quarters were to be left in their current state, an eternal memory frozen in time. Even cleaning the chambers was heavily restricted, and Father would personally oversee the servants whenever it couldn’t be delayed any further.

His hands trembling with unbridled rage, Artoirel threw the door open and stormed into the room. He would destroy anyone who dared to sully his brother’s memory!

_ Anyone but Father. _

Artoirel froze. Father hovered in front of Haurchefant’s desk, his normally imposing appearance frail and miserable. He stood motionless, gazing up at the portrait behind Haurchefant’s desk with his shoulders sagged and his hands folded behind his back. Artoirel felt his anger evaporate, a dreadful sense of dismay taking its place.

The old man had heard him enter - of course - and turned to face him. A smile was plastered onto his face, but it was pale and artificial, and Artoirel didn’t miss the wet shimmer in his eyes.

  
“Ah, Artoirel. I was only…” Father swallowed and composed himself. “Did you need something?”

Artoirel flinched, his heart sinking. What was he supposed to tell Father? That he had thought him an intruder disgracing his brother’s memory? That he had been frantic to protect Haurchefant in death after he had so bitterly failed him in life?

He gave a small shake of his head, fearing he would not be able to keep his poise should he open his mouth. His gaze shifted to the painting Father had marvelled at. A family portrait featuring Father, Haurchefant, Emmanellain and Artoirel himself. It had been commissioned a few moons after Mother’s death and was the first family portrait to involve Haurchefant - Mother had always forbidden for him to be included before. Haurchefant had adored the painting beyond description, begging Father for days on end to be allowed to hang it in his room. Father had initially wanted to hang it in the foyer for everyone to see, but ultimately hadn’t had the heart to deny Haurchefant. It was only now, in what seemed a lifetime later, that Artoirel came to grasp the reason for Haurchefant’s exuberant enthusiasm on the matter: It was the first keepsake Haurchefant ever had of his family and himself, of the people he loved and longed to be loved by.

  
Artoirel lowered his head.  _ Loved by people like him... _


	3. Guilt and Grief

“Artoirel?” Edmont disentangled his fingers and took a step closer to his son, worry etching a frown onto his features. “Is everything well?”

  
Artoirel nodded, a fitful, frantic movement that betrayed Edmont more about his state than any words could have.

“Yes, pray do not worry, Father,” he mustered at last, his voice strained and leaden. “I am sorry for barging in on you, I did not mean to intrude.”

Oh, so that was what had him ill at ease.

“Ah, no.” Edmont mustered a wan smile before he could no longer keep up the pretense and swivelled back towards the portrait. He had never been one prone to melancholy, but everything had changed after Haurchefant’s death. Yet, could you call his state of mind ‘melancholy’ at all? The grief one bore for outliving one’s own child… No, there was no word that measured up to this emptiness, that could capture the pain and hopelessness that ate away at his very soul. “I was just… On days like this I…”

He paused, a jagged breath tearing from his throat. Oh, how he hated being old, being immobile and dependent -  _ being unable to… _

“I wish I could visit his grave,” he blurted out. Silence followed his words and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear Haurchefant’s radiant smile beaming down at him any longer. “I have… Did you know I haven’t been there since the funeral?”

He cringed, chastising himself when the misleading implication of his statement registered with him.

  
“Not because I didn’t want to!” he hastened to clarify. “The way is too far for me is all.”

He studied the intricate pattern of the carpet beneath his feet, the weight of the room heavy on his shoulders.

“I could hire a chocobo carriage, of course, but I do not… I do not wish to stand at my son’s grave with someone waiting at the bottom of the hill for me to finish up mourning so they can finally take me back home.”

He nearly laughed out loud at the thought. What a preposterous idea... To ‘hurry’ mourning as not to inconvenience anyone for too long. As if he could just pause his grief, his anguish and guilt like it was a… a pastime activity. And yet, not going to the gravesite at all meant he deserted Haurchefant, meant not paying tribute to his son even in death.

A hand settled on his shoulder and Edmont found himself face to face with his eldest. Artoirel’s mien was pain-stricken, but his blue eyes were warm with understanding and compassion.

“Do not blame yourself, Father,” he implored. “In your heart, you’re with him, I know that.”

Edmont gave a reluctant nod.

“Still… It feels like I’m betraying him all over again, am I not? How can I not go see my son’s grave on Starlight's Eve?”

Artoirel withdrew his hand, unable to hold Edmont’s gaze any further. His shoulders slumped and he took a step backwards, almost as if to flee.

“I am sorry, Father,” he whispered. Edmont startled.

“Pardon me?” He frowned. Why would Artoirel apologise? “Haurchefant’s death was not your fault.”

Artoirel shook his head. The motion was stiff and disturbingly slow.

“No, not that…” He balled his hands, his voice cracking. _ “I’m sorry it wasn’t me!“ _

A bottomless hole opened below Edmont and swallowed him, threw him into a pitch-black darkness. He stumbled back, unable to make sense of the absurdity that had been thrust at him.

“What? No! I… I… Do you genuinely believe I would have wanted you - either of you - to die in Haurchefant’s place!?”

He gasped, clutching the back of Haurchefant’s desk chair for halt. His head spun. Had he seriously made his sons believe he would choose Haurchefant over them? And Artoirel at that! Accomplished, magnificent Artoirel. How could he ever  _ think  _ that? Edmont had heard many a people secretly whisper behind his back that it was a shame Emmanellain hadn’t died in Haurchefant’s stead. The tattle had filled him with powerless rage. How could anyone claim that one of his sons was more deserving of death than his brothers, that he would have sacrificed one of his sons for another! He had always feared for Emmanellain to learn of this gossip, knowing he would never be able to extinguish the flamelet of self-doubt it would kindle in Emmanellain’s heart, but for  _ Artoirel _ to doubt himself like that... He had not expected that.

His mind muddled, Edmont raised his gaze. Artoirel still refused to meet his eyes, still trembled - still blamed himself.

“I made his life miserable,” Artoirel forced out, the words barely audible above the roaring in Edmont’s ears. “I snubbed him at every opportunity I saw fit, always let him feel he didn’t belong with us. There wasn’t a day on which I didn’t go out of my way to demonstrate how much I despised him.”

With a strength he did not know he still had, Edmont pushed himself off the chair and clasped Artoirel’s shoulders.

“No! No, son, don’t say that!” he commanded, the proper demeanour of a former count replaced by that of a desperate father. “You did not approve of your brother, but you never hurt him, I know that.”

Artoirel winced, Edmont’s love and trust in him only seeming to torment him further.

“Not with sticks nor stones,” he acknowledged, “but with my words and deeds I did. How is that any less condemnable? Haurchefant was a true knight of Ishgard, a man everyone could have been proud to call their brother. Yet I resented him...”

Edmont tightened his grasp and shook Artoirel once - slightly, but enough to make him listen.

“Do not tear yourself apart for things that were not your fault,” he demanded. “You were a child when I brought him home! I cannot fault your mother for rejecting him, Gods know it was my mistake to begin with, and I cannot fault you for following her lead.”

“But I am no child anymore, am I?” Artoirel countered wretchedly. Edmont nodded without hesitation.

“Tis true, and you don’t resent Haurchefant any longer, do you?”

That reduced Artoirel to silence. Edmont released him and turned back towards the painting.

“Pray make no mistake, Artoirel, I understand full well how you feel,” he assured. “But you were his brother. I was his father. It was my duty to keep him safe, to raise him happy. But I failed him…”

He chuckled, a humorless, bleak sound that sounded wrong even to his own ears.

“And now I cannot even visit his grave. I'm abandoning him all over again…”

“Father, if there’s one thing I can say with certainty, it’s that you never abandoned Haurchefant!”

Edmont startled. Despite Artoirel’s grief and guilt, his words were full of determination.

“You never denied him your home or your love. We both know how some of your peers handled similar situations - Mistress Hilda is only one of countless examples of those less fortunate than Haurchefant. You loved Haurchefant, and he knew that, Father.”

Edmont smiled at him again, his eyes teary, though he could not tell whether they were tears of joy or of pain.

“Thank you, my son, I…”

“And now pray put on a warmer coat, Father,” Artoirel ordered. Edmont arched his eyebrows. A grim smirk played about Artoirel‘s lips.

“We’re going to visit Haurchefant’s grave - no, do not oppose. I understand that it’s not the same as if you could go there on your own, but surely you’d feel more at ease with me accompanying you rather than a servant? I promise I will wait - out of sight if you wish - and I will not secretly pray for you to hurry, no matter how long your stay. Starlight celebration is a time for families, and with our family we shall spend it.“


	4. Fond Memory

“Watch your step, boy!”

Filibert glared at Honoroit and shoved past him, impatient to give the simmering pot of eggnog on the oven a stir before it would burn. Honoroit pressed himself against the kitchen counter and bit his lip. Usually, he didn‘t mind helping out with the household chores, but the stressful holiday season had left everyone on edge. People kept shouting and snapping at each other, for the smallest of reasons most times.

He took care to stay from underfoot and recommenced peeling the giant bag of potatoes in front of him. Gods, hopefully that day would pass quickly…

His mind wandered back to Emmanellain. The man was probably flitting around the Jeweled Crozier by now, oh-ing and ah-ing at the manifold displays, tasting samples and crying out in delight when he came across a particularly fancy item. The mental image warmed Honoroit’s heart, but the sentiment was quickly replaced by sobriety. While Honoroit wasn’t exactly worried, it was odd that Emmanellain had insisted on going to the market alone. Usually, he welcomed Honoroit’s company, happily chatting away despite the fact that his topics of conversation were hardly worth being chatted about. His earlier behaviour had been unwonted, even for someone as peculiar as Emma…

Meaty fingers closed around his shoulder and made Honoroit jump. He whirled around, half out of scare and half because the person behind him bodily turned him. He found himself under Filibert’s sharp scrutiny, the cook’s cheeks flushed a bright red - if from the heat of the kitchen or due to his temper, Honoroit couldn’t tell. He squirmed, drawing back as far as the counter behind him would allow.

Filibert furrowed his brows - and heaved a sigh.

“I am sorry for snapping at you,” he muttered. “I know I was being unfair. I am afraid my mood is currently a little… sour.”

Honoroit relaxed as his tension in his body gradually eased. He shook his head and forced a small smile.

“No apology needed, Master Filibert,” he assured. “I  _ was _ in the way, and I understand that you are exceptionally busy today.”

Filibert, his mouth crooked with amusement, patted his shoulder.

  
“Nay, you were not,” he admitted. “And even if you were: You’re helping out here. Despite what it may seem like, I do appreciate that greatly.”

He shooed away a kitchen maid and took over kneading the dough she had been working on. A scowl creased his forehead as he inspected the gooey substance before he added a good deal more flour to it.

“How come you’re here today, anyway?” he called over the noisy hustle of the kitchen. “Is Lord Emmanellain away with a lady?”

The question was outrageously brazen and Belienne, the housekeeper who had come to check on the state of affairs in the kitchen, swiftly whacked him in the ribs.

“Don’t be so nosey!” she hissed, albeit Honoroit could make out a twinkle in her old eyes. “I’m sure Lord Emmanellain has… erm,  _ important  _ business to attend to.”

Honoroit couldn’t help but laugh at her ambiguous inflection.

“In fact, he has headed to the Jeweled Crozier,” he explained, feeling the need to defend his master for once. “I am not sure what he intends to buy though. He was strangely adamant about me staying in the manor.”

Filibert gave a grunt of disapproval.

  
“Starlight presents of course,” he scoffed. “Bet he forgot all about it and now tries to get somethin’ for everyone at the last minute. ‘Tis why he does not wish to have you with him - he can hardly buy a gift for you with you around.”

Belienne slapped him again, more severely this time, while she placed her other hand on Honoroit’s back in an expression of sympathy. She shot Filibert a meaningful look and discreetly nodded in Honoroit’s direction.

“I’m sure Lord Emmanellain does not buy Honoroit’s present on the last day possible,” she stated with emphasis. Filibert seemed to catch her intention, but merely rolled his eyes in response. Honoroit cleared his throat and tugged at Belienne’s sleeve.

“I understand it may come as a surprise, but Lord Emmanellain is a very early gift buyer in fact,” he contradicted. “He normally has all of his gifts ready moons in advance.“

It was true - this year‘s gifts for Lord Edmont and Count Artoirel had been stashed away in Lord Emmanellain’s room for four if not five tendays already.

Belienne and Filibert both stared at him with open bewilderment.

“Indeed?” Belienne exclaimed. Her tone revealed a hint of doubt, if not outright disbelief. “I did not think him so responsible in these matters.”

Honoroit returned to peeling potatoes, humming thoughtfully.

“It’s not as much a matter of responsibility as of kindness,” he observed. “I know Lord Emmanellain is infamous for spending a lot of money on needless trumpery, but his love for shopping is not limited to purchases for himself. In fact, he takes just as much joy in buying things for friends and family as he does in buying things for himself. He’s quite good at choosing gifts, too. I don’t think Lord Edmont, Count Artoirel or I ever received a present from him that we did not like.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Well, except for that one time when he gave Count Artoirel a book on love poetry after Lady Timinne had made unwelcome advances on him, but he did that on purpose to tease Count Artoirel.”

There was a moment of silence and then Filibert spoke again, his voice softer and notably more benevolent.

“What did he get you last year?” he wanted to know. Honoroit ducked his head, a faint shade of pink tinting the tips of his ears.

“Oh, um, it was nothing special. I… er, I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

Filibert barked a laugh.

“ ‘Don’t remember’, yeah?“ He winked at Honoroit, but then shook his head in admonition. “It’s honourable of you that you try to shed a better light on him, but you shouldn‘t lie on his behalf, kid. I’m sure you do remember very well - it must have been a horrible gift if you prefer not to tell us about it.”

Honoroit grimaced, struck by guilt. He didn’t want the other servants to think poorly of Emmanellain, especially if the sole reason for their false assumptions was Honoroit‘s own embarrassment.

He fidgeted with the peeler in his hands, absently running his thumb across its teeth.

“It was a stuffed teddy bear,” he admitted at last. Just as he had expected, Belienne and Filibert were startled speechless. Belienne, recovering first, mumbled something about that being a nice gift, but Filibert cut her off.

“Aren’t you a little old for teddy bears?” he questioned bluntly. Honoroit blushed once more, but nodded earnestly.

“Yes. I…“ He took a deep breath and absently gazed out the window. Snow covered the Fortemps’ courtyard, concealing its pebbled paths and clothing the rose bushes in a pillowy coat. “A few weeks prior to last year’s Starlight festivities, Lord Emmanellain and I happened to come across two ladies shopping together at the Jeweled Crozier. I presume they were sisters, though they may as well have been mere friends. One of them was with child, and they were looking for a stuffed animal to gift to the child once it was born. The expectant mother mentioned how she still had the stuffed toy her mother had given  _ her  _ upon her birth, and how it had been her closest companion for the first few years of her life.”

He swallowed, his eyes burning as the memories of that day rose to the surface.

“I don’t know why, but hearing this… affected me quite strongly.“ It was the understatement of the century. He had well-nigh started crying in the middle of the street. “I don’t know why this trifling scene upset me as much as it did, but at that moment, I realised with a sudden clarity that I had neither father nor mother who cared for me the way this woman cared for her unborn child. I would never have any memories of my childhood, no one to tell embarrassing stories about the mischief I caused when I was little, no stuffed animal I could ever look upon when I’m old and reminisce about my childhood days.”

That had the tears start again, and he wiped his sleeve over his eyes.

“On the morning of Startlight’s Eve… I woke and found a stuffed teddy bear in my arms. Not on my drawer or even on top of my covers - in my very arms.” He smiled, staring unseeing at the heap of potato peels in front of him. “On my nightstand, there was a note from Lord Emmanellain saying that he knew it wasn’t the same, but that this way, I could at least have  _ some _ toy to remember my childhood, even if it didn‘t entail my early years, and that… and that maybe I could pass the it on to my own children someday.”

He chuckled.

  
“He had picked a bear the colour of which perfectly matched my hair and then had insisted for the toymaker to replace its originally brown eyes with green ones. Apparently, there was quite a heated discussion between them since the toymaker found the request ridiculous, and it took Lord Emmanellain a lot of persuasiveness - or rather money I suspect - until he agreed. Let me tell you, a teddy bear looking like you is a rather odd experience… It felt terribly awkward to see it sitting on my bed for the first couple of weeks. Yet it… I know it’s meant to be a toy for much younger children, but it meant the world to me. It still does.“

He glanced up at Belienne and Filibert, only to find that the whole kitchen staff had paused their work and had been listening to him. He dropped his head in abashment, but before he could gather his wits enough to defend himself, Belienne drew him close and placed a kiss on top of his head.

“Gods bless you,” she murmured. “And Gods bless Lord Emmanellain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really wanted to finish this in time for Christmas, but I am an awfully slow & finicky editor. And as much as I’d like to post the whole story, I will not give you a half-baked drabble. I’ll deliver the remaining chapters as soon as possible.
> 
> Love,  
> Kari


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